Porter (Dick Dynasty #1) by David Michael Page A

turned the ignition.
    I needed a drink.
    I pulled into my driveway as she pulled up to the curb out front.
    “I hate you,” I spat before she had even closed the door to her Prius.
    “I guess I don’t need to ask how it went then,” she said with a smile, “Let me guess; He came onto you and you flipped out and froze.”
    Exactly!
    “No! It wasn’t like that at all!”
    “Yes it was,” she countered confidently, “Now you want to drink about it and tell me all about how much you hate him when, really, he got under your skin and you’re dying to see him again.”
    “I hate you.”
    I unlocked the front door and gestured Becks inside with a sweep of my arm.
    She lifted herself onto the tips of her toes as she passed and planted a loud kiss on my cheek before bouncing off toward the kitchen.
    I barely had time to drop my purse next to the couch and kick my stilettos off before she pounced on me like a starving lion. Wine in hand; she grilled me for every detail of my date with Porter.
    I didn’t spare her any of the details. Once my lips began to move, it was like I couldn’t stop them. I could hear the words spilling from my mouth, but I had no control, even when they started bordering on pornographic as I described the way my body responded to his touch.
    Becks hung on my every word with a faraway, dreamy look on her face. You’d think I was telling her a story about a princess finally meeting her Prince Charming instead of a sordid tale of a first date gone wrong.
    Her eyes focused and her mouth dropped open in surprise when I got to the part about being pulled over and him riding in to save the day.
    “Are you serious?” she asked, “He just strolled up to the cop and started talking to him? I figured he’d be a little bit full of himself, but that’s a bit more brazen than even I thought he’d be!”
    “The man is convinced that his penis can do anything! It’s insane!”
    Becks smiled into her glass as she took another sip of wine, “Have you seen that thing in action? I’m half-convinced his penis can do anything, too!”
    I rolled my eyes at her and downed the rest of my wine in one massive gulp.
    “No, Becks. I haven’t seen it in action. To be honest, I don’t really want to, either. It’s bad enough he can look at me and set my panties on fire. I don’t need to make it even worse by giving my imagination some gasoline to toss on the flames.”
    She lifted the bottle from the coffee table and refilled our glasses before saying, “I promise you, Holly. Whatever your imagination tells you about his prowess, it doesn’t compare. Not even close.”
    “I don’t care, Rebecca. Stop talking about it and drink your wine.”
    “You’re doing yourself a disservice,” she muttered into her merlot.
    I huffed out an irritated sigh before shifting the focus away from Porter’s thrusting hips and silver tongue.
    “What the hell did you and Mitch end up doing after you beat me to death with The Kit?”
    “Mitch had a date, so he took off and I just went home,” she leaned back against the arm of the couch and tucked her bare feet under my leg, “I was about three seconds away from attacking a pint of ice cream with a spoon when you called. My hips thank you for your timing.”
    “Oh, please,” I lowered my brow and pinned her with a no-bullshit stare, “You could lie on your back under a soft-serve machine for an hour and not gain a pound. A pint of ice cream would probably do you some good, you skinny little twig.”
    “You know how it is in this town better than anyone, Holly. Until I either marry Johnny Depp, or land myself a Meryl Streep-level role, I’ve gotta keep this waist as tiny as I possibly can. Casting directors don’t put whales in leading roles.”
    “We did in Free Willy,” I had to raise my glass to hide my grin “besides, Hollywood has become less about the glitz and the glamour and more about the actual acting.”
    “You’re full of shit. That may be true when it